Express Male (15 page)

Noah, wired for sound, had been comfortably parked in the closet of her spare room since six—well, as comfortable as he
could
make himself in a closet—and she hadn’t heard so much as a floorboard creak since. For all she knew, he was sound asleep and she was fairly certain she’d never get a wink of sleep again. Not while Adrian Padgett was skulking about, thinking she was Lila Moreau.

Though she might as well be Lila at the moment, looking the way she did. Marnie had waited until after Noah made himself scarce to change her clothes. Because she was pretending to be Lila, and because Lila was supposed to be welcoming Adrian Padgett with open arms—among other body parts—Marnie had done her best to dress appropriately. Not that there was anything appropriate about the way she was dressed. Naturally, she’d had to go out and buy something yesterday because—go figure—there were no pieces in her wardrobe that screamed “Dangerous kick-ass spy with nothing even vaguely resembling morals.”

So now she sat on her window seat—deliberately silhouetted by the lace curtains, just in case Padgett was out there watching—dressed in a snug, low-cut red sweater and skintight black leather pants. She’d loosed her hair from its usual tidy bun, so the dark blond tresses cascaded over her shoulders to nearly the middle of her back. She wore makeup, too, which was something she normally never did, including Midnight Confession eyeliner and Ravenous Red lipstick, both of which she’d taken pains to apply just like the model on the cover of a likewise newly purchased
Cosmopolitan,
a magazine she had bought exactly one time before, in a moment of weakness in the grocery store checkout, when she’d suddenly been overcome by a burning need to know the
Four—Yes Four!—Levels of Male Bliss and How To Take Your Guy Through the Roof!

Unable to tolerate the tension twisting her insides, she made her way to the kitchen and plucked a full-bodied burgundy from the pantry and uncorked it. Emily Post would have been horrified by the way Marnie filled the biggest damned wineglass she could find to the brim and slugged back half of it immediately, but then Emily wasn’t sitting around in leather pants waiting to be manhandled by an international criminal while some guy in the other room listened in.

Boy, had life changed for Marnie in the past week.

She drained the glass and refilled it, a nervous giggle escaping when she saw the crimson crescent of lipstick staining one side of the glass. It just looked so…dangerous. So lacking in morals. She couldn’t believe she was the one who’d left it there. She dropped her gaze to the deep V-neck of the sweater that revealed her—actually surprisingly decent for a mousy piano teacher—cleavage, something she’d never put on display before, and she noted how her long hair curved under her breasts. Then her gaze traveled lower still, to the way the black pants hugged her thighs and calves, ending in spike-heel shoes, also a new acquisition.

Boy,
had life changed for Marnie in the last week.

The depth charge of burgundy rocketed through her body, heating parts of her with enough velocity to send her straight to the moon. She remembered then that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast because her stomach had been knotted with fear all day. When she lifted the glass to her mouth again, it was to sip the wine more carefully, but the quick initial injection…ah, she meant
ingestion,
of course…had done what it was supposed to do—calmed her nerves to the point where at least her hands weren’t shaking anymore. Now if she could just get her thoughts to stop jumping around, too…

She enjoyed a few more small sips, refilled them—and then refilled a few more she hadn’t taken yet—corked the bottle again and returned to the living room. Still no sign of Padgett. Still no sign of Noah. Not that she was surprised by that latter. He’d made it clear he would remain invisible until morning, should Padgett decide to show up later than the assigned hour. Like, say, in the middle of the night, when Marnie was fast asleep—or, say, passed out from wine—and completely vulnerable.

She wondered how Noah could stay awake all night. She barely made it past the ten-o’clock news. She hardly even stayed up to welcome in the New Year anymore. No way would she be coherent enough to catch a bad guy if she went to sleep past her bedtime.

Oh, good. That was getting her week—and life—back to where it needed to be. Realizing what a boring existence she had. Gosh, she felt so much better now.

The self-pity ebbed quickly, though, flowing away as easily as the wine that purled through her system. She smiled at the warm, fuzzy sensations that took over, and lifted the glass to her mouth for another sip. It was going on eleven, she noted with a glance at the mantel clock. Surely if Padgett was going to show, he would have by now. He’d probably only told Marnie he was coming back to make her sweat. Or, rather, to make Lila sweat. Not that it didn’t sound like he’d already made Lila sweat.
A lot.

Another nervous giggle erupted, and Marnie slapped her hand over her mouth to keep it from turning into hysterical laughter. The body sure did have strange ways of coping with stress. Crying when one was happy. Laughing when one was terrified. She slugged back another big gulp of wine. There was nothing humorous about being terrified. Uh-uh. Nothing funny about putting oneself in danger. No sir. Nosiree. Nosiree-bob. Nosiree-bobaroonie. Nosiree-bobaroonie-rama-lama-ding-dong.

Marnie began to giggle again, and since it hadn’t worked to cover her mouth with her hand before, this time, to stop it, she took another hit…uh, she meant
sip…
of wine. And then, when another giggle erupted, she took another hit. Sip. Whatever. Then another. Then one more, just to be sure.

Then she went to look for Noah.

Well, why the hell should she drink alone, when she had a perfectly nice man lurking in a closet who planned to stay the night?

She detoured through the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of wine and a second glass, then crossed the hallway to her spare room. It was still furnished with her father’s Queen Anne bedroom furniture, but Marnie had updated it a bit with a new terra-cotta matelasse spread and prints of flowering herbs and spices on the sage-colored walls. Pale yellow light spilled from a small lamp on the nightstand, giving the room a buttery glow that matched nicely the warm, buttery sensations winding through Marnie. She crossed to the closet and pulled the door toward herself, blocking what little light there was, but leaving enough to see Noah. He’d shoved the clothes to one side, then seated himself on the floor in the corner and his attention was utterly fixed on some sophisticated spy apparatus he held in his hand. He hadn’t even noticed her arrival.

It was amazing, she thought as she watched him, how they could fit so much advanced technology into such a little piece of equipment. She wondered what the little miracle of science allowed him to do. Was he reading a file about Padgett? Reviewing some big plan about how to stop him? Or was he—

Her mouth dropped open when she recognized what he was holding and realized what he was doing. Grimacing, she leaned in closer to be sure. Yep, that was a Game Boy, all right. And he was playing Pokémon. Honestly. How dare he? How could he be doing that? It was unbelievable. It was reprehensible. It was irresponsible.

How could he possibly be battling Tate and Liza with a level twenty-seven Sandslash?

“Are you nuts?” she said. “You’re never gonna make it to the Pokémon League like that.”

He started at the sound of her voice, the Game Boy jumping from his fingers. He fumbled to retrieve it, held it firm in both hands, then began thumbing both the A button and the direction button again. “Do you
mind?
” he snapped. “I’m battling.”

She shook her head, pushed the door open wider, then squeezed inside the closet and folded herself into a sitting position beside him. “Not for long,” she said. “Tate and Liza are gonna kick your butt if that’s the best Pokémon you have.”

Still frantically manipulating the buttons, his attention focused entirely on the small screen, he said, “Dammit! Sandslash fainted.”

She tried not to sound too smug when she said, “Toldja.”

He growled something unintelligible under his breath. “Well, what would you suggest?”

“What else have you got besides Sandslash?” she asked.

He thumbed the appropriate buttons, then turned the screen toward her. She shook her head in disgust. “You’ve assembled an amazingly bad team. It’s way too heavy on water types.”

“It’s my first time playing.”

She sighed. “Novice. Level up your Swampert,” she told him. “To at least thirty-six. His mudshot should be pretty good then. And find yourself a good electric type, for God’s sake. You’re gonna need it.”

He turned the Game Boy back to himself and thumbed the buttons again, saving his game before switching it off. Then he turned to look at Marnie. Without the pale glow of the game, and with the scant bedroom lamp blocked by the open door, they were seated amid nothing but shadows. “What are you doing in here?”

She held up the hand clutching the empty wineglass and half-empty wine bottle. “It’s happy hour.”

“No it isn’t. It’s past happy hour.”

“Not in Maui, it’s not,” she reasoned. “In Maui, happy hour is just starting. In fact, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“We’re not in Maui.”

She smiled as she set her glass down on the floor beside herself and went to work wrestling the cork out of the bottle. “Have a glass of this Château Lafitte. Drink it really fast. You’ll be in Maui in no time.”

She heard him chuckle, and the soft sound sent a ripple of pleasure winnowing through her. Oh, wow. That felt really
good.

“Something tells me you’ve already made the transpacific flight yourself.”

She handed him his newly poured wine, then lifted her other hand to show him her—wow, it was almost empty again; when did that happen?—wineglass. “Weather is beautiful. Wish you were here.”

“You really should try to keep your wits about you,” he said, not taking the glass, but eyeing it with something akin to longing. “Sorcerer could still show up.”

“Not if he doesn’t want his clock cleaned, he won’t.”

She extended the glass toward him again, but he shook his head. “One of us needs to stay sober.”

Marnie did sober then. Some. Which only made her lift her glass to her lips again for another healthy sip. “Do you really think he still might show up tonight?”

“I don’t want to assume anything where Sorcerer is concerned.”

She sighed resolutely. “Well, will you at least come out and keep me company? I’m never going to get to sleep tonight.”

And
boy,
did that come out sounding a lot different from what she’d intended it to mean.

Noah was kind enough, or sober enough—or maybe obtuse enough—not to notice. He shook his head. “If he’s watching the house he’d see two bodies moving behind the curtains.”

And
boy,
did that come out sounding a lot different from what he’d probably intended it to mean.

“Then I’ll stay in here with you,” she said, settling in.

“This night’s going to go on forever.”

And
boy,
did that come out sounding—

Oh, never mind.

“So how do you know so much about Pokémon and Game Boy?” he asked as she drained her glass and set it aside to sip from his. Well,
he
wasn’t going to drink it. And it was Château Lafitte. Duh.

“One of my students insisted I take his old one when he graduated to a new model. He left the game in it for me.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I’m too distracted to read or play the piano. It takes my mind off of things.”

Even in the darkness of the closet, she could see the flash of his grin. “Same here. Only it was my nephew who gave me his. And I hear ya on the distraction.”

“So you have at least one nephew,” she said. “That indicates that you also have at least one sibling.”

“Two, actually,” he told her. “Both brothers. Both younger.”

“And parents?”

“I have two of those, as well. Both older.”

She smiled, warming to the subject, much like the wine had warmed her insides. Too much of her insides, now that she thought about it. And too warm. Usually wine didn’t make her warm
there.
Especially as warm as it was right now. But for some reason, sitting here in a confined, secluded place, wearing skintight leather pants and a cleavage-revealing sweater, all alone in the dark with a
very
attractive man who was so close that their arms brushed against each other and their thighs kept touch—

Oooooooh. That
was why she was feeling warm
there.

“And you grew up in a house like this one,” she continued, pushing aside thoughts of warmness in places where it shouldn’t be. Well,
trying
to push those thoughts away. For some reason, they just didn’t want to budge. And neither did the warmth. In fact, the more she tried not to think about being warm in those places where she shouldn’t be warm, the warmer those shouldn’t-be-warm places got, until, honestly, she was getting so warm she just wanted to peel off the leather pants and discard the low-cut sweater and—